


That City Heartbeat

by elliebird



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15608985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebird/pseuds/elliebird
Summary: Title from Simon & Garfunkel





	That City Heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [Sara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedkitten/pseuds/cyclogenesis) for reading all five versions of this and encouraging me to keep going when I probably would have given up.

Ashton has been to New York a handful of times. He’s seen the city in October when the temperature has begun to drop and the leaves are changing color. They were snowed in a few years ago, record amounts of snow on the city streets turning the dark night sky shades of purple. New York in the summer is less than ideal, an overcrowded jumble of people that makes Ashton feel just a little claustrophobic. 

Ashton, his band and a crew that includes a photographer, their management team and security land in New York several hours after finding out they’re number one again. 

He hated the city the first time they visited, five years ago on their first tour with 1D. They had no time and no freedom to explore and Ashton’s impression was of an overpopulated jungle of towering buildings, filth on crowded streets and a general sense of discontentment. He’s had experiences since then, moments that have allowed him to see the magic of the city. 

The four of them are riding the high of achieving what felt like the impossible while they were writing, throwing out dozens of songs and wondering if the magic they’d had was gone, a spark put out after several years of constant touring and hard living. 

Calum’s been on the quiet side since they arrived, watching the city pass from behind tinted windows of their SUV with his earphones on and a little smile that seems to light him up from the inside out. He hasn’t stopped smiling since they deplaned in Chicago to the news that they had somehow secured their third number one album. 

Ashton’s riding a combined high of the success of the album and several months’ worth of exhaustion. He sits beside Calum, thighs and hips touching, not for lack of space but for the comfort of it, the physical ease between them. 

Their caravan pulls up to the hotel in midtown, the same place they stay during every trip to New York. As they’re sorting themselves and their mountain of luggage out, Calum catches him off guard, throwing both arms around him and pulling him in for a hug so quickly Ashton goes a little dizzy. 

“Okay, guess we’re hugging,” Ashton says to hide how fast his heart is beating. Calum hugs with his whole body, big arms around his shoulders, bellies and chests pressed together. 

“Shut up and let me hug you,” he says into Ashton’s shoulder with a grin Ashton can hear in his voice and feel in the shape of his mouth against his skin. 

Ashton was never comfortable being on the receiving end of physical affection until Calum. In the early days, Ashton kept to the outside of group hugs, cuddles and fondling. He’s better with it now, though Calum is still the one Ashton’s most comfortable being physical with. 

“Enough with the hugging,” Ashton says, taking a step back. His cheeks are warm. Calum’s grinning broadly at him, eyes crinkled and teasing. “Let’s go party.” 

 

* * * 

 

The ballroom Capitol Records rented out is lit up in red and purple lights to celebrate the band’s third album. There’s a DJ playing EDM. The throb of the bass makes the floor vibrate beneath Ashton’s boots. 

Calum keeps drifting in and out of Ashton’s orbit. He reappears as Ashton’s thinking of going to find him, missing him and the way he feels when they’re together. Calum has sweat at his temple, the smell of smoke clinging to him like he ducked out for a cigarette on his own. Ashton frowns.

“I would have gone with you,” he says as Calum moves in close and takes Ashton’s drink. He doesn’t like that Calum smokes, but when Ashton goes with him, he sticks to one or two, instead of lingering to chainsmoke. 

“You’re having fun,” Calum says, taking a sip. His mouth is wet and pink. 

The black shirt Calum is wearing clings to his chest, open at the throat to reveal skin Ashton wants to press his mouth to. He’s bright eyed, his face pink from the heat of bodies crushed together in the ballroom.

Calum is Ashton’s favorite person to party with and he wants to spend tonight with him. “I want to have fun with you,” Ashton says and takes his drink back. 

Calum preens at that, a bright smile making his eyes squint. He leans in to be heard over the music as it switches to something loud and chaotic. His breath is warm and sweet against Ashton’s cheek. “I’m going to get a drink,” he says and disappears. 

Ashton dances when he’s drinking, and only when he’s drinking, with an arm aloft to avoid sloshing vodka on himself. There are people around him that he recognizes but can’t name, business acquaintances and people he might have called friends at one point in his life, if he’d stayed in one place long enough. 

He catches Calum’s eye as he makes his way towards Ashton with a fresh drink. He shimmies his hips, arms splayed wide and waggles his eyebrows as he moves right into Ashton’s space. 

Calum’s drinking something red that’s stained his mouth, making his lips wet and rosy like he’s been kissing someone. 

Ashton doesn’t want his own drink anymore. He takes Calum’s sweating glass without asking and sucks at the straw where Calum’s mouth has been, desperate for what he doesn’t have the courage to ask for. 

“You have your own!” Calum laughs, ruining the indignation with which he says it.

Calum recovers his drink and for the remainder of the song they sway in and out of each other’s space, sharing giddy smiles and gradually growing loose-limbed. 

Drinking makes Ashton handsy. If he’s being honest with himself - and if he can’t be honest with himself when he’s drunk then what’s the point - Calum makes him want to be handsy. Drinking gives him the excuse he can’t find sober. He pushes, with a thigh between Calum’s as they dance or a hand slipping beneath his t-shirt, just to see how far Calum will let him get, when they’re partying and have the excuse of alcohol and adrenaline. 

He settles a hand on Calum’s back where he’s warm, his shirt slightly damp. Calum answers him, drifting closer and turning towards Ashton like he’s offering something.

Ashton likes the pink flush on Calum’s cheeks, from the alcohol or the press of bodies on the dance floor, or maybe from having Ashton’s fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and Ashton’s attention on him. 

He leans in close and nuzzles the sweat-damp slope of Calum’s throat, breathing in soap and cologne and swaying a little with the excuse that he’s a had a lot to drink and he gets especially affectionate when he’s drinking. 

Calum welcomes him, a hand at the small of his back, fingers splayed to steady him and his throat bared. 

Calum matches him step for step. He always does, taking only what Ashton's willing to give and retreating when Ashton’s gone as far he’ll let himself. It’s not a game, Ashton tells himself, but Calum plays it like he knows the rules. 

He doesn’t want to stop. Calum might let him keep going, let him brush a kiss to the dip above his shirt, nudge his nose right beneath Calum’s ear where he smells sweet or trail his fingers over his soft skin to the waist of his jeans like they have the right to be there. But if he kept going, eventually he’d have to stop and face the fallout. It’s easier to keep himself from giving in. 

Rihanna’s newest song comes on, a bastardized version with a heavy, thumping bass that crawls up Ashton’s spine and settles in his bones. He dances away like he’s delighted and can’t help but give into the need to dance. His heart settles in his throat and he feels like a coward. 

They dance together, surrounded by people who don’t give a fuck that Ashton and Calum have been playing this give and take for so long it feels like it’s stopped heading anywhere. He shimmies into Calum’s space, dancing up on him like he might if Calum were really his. Before he can retreat again, Calum drapes his arm over Ashton’s shoulder, easy and casual, letting Ashton know he can take it or leave it. He moves his hips to the beat, the throb of it matching the race of Ashton’s pulse, working a rhythm that makes Ashton itch. 

Ashton answers Calum with a hand slipping beneath his shirt, his palm resting in the middle of Calum’s back. His skin is warm beneath his fingertips, damp from the heat. He strokes them downwards, liquid bravery in his veins egging him on like a chorus of teenages boys daring him to jump off a roof. The pads of his fingers trail down Calum’s spine, tracing the ridges of bone beneath hot skin. Calum’s response is in the arch of his back, hips jutting forward. His mouth falls open and his eyes slip shut and Ashton doesn’t let himself take it any further. They dance like that with his hand on Calum’s bare skin for a chorus, and then another, and then Ashton ducks away. 

There are cameras everywhere. Fans outside hoping to catch a glimpse of them and a couple hundred people with phones around them who could snap a photo and send everything spiraling out of control. 

 

* * * 

 

Ashton doesn’t have secrets from his bandmates. 

They went quickly from kids who needed a drummer for their band, to best friends and then somehow, the most important people in his life. Ashton, for all he prides himself on being able to find the right words, doesn’t know how to describe what Calum is to him. 

He told Calum once how afraid he was of turning out like his mother, something he’d never said aloud. He’s admitted that he doesn’t always feel comfortable in his own skin, that he questions whether there’s someone out there who can put up with him for the long haul. He’s shared his entire being with Calum. 

These days, his vision of the future no longer includes a pretty, faceless woman. When he thinks about what’s next for him, beyond the band, the big milestones in his life, Calum is the only thing he’s certain about. 

Ashton takes Calum out the following night, after a long day of album promotion. They have nothing on the calendar for one night in the city and Ashton claimed Calum’s evening over a workout in the hotel gym in the early morning, when they were both regretting last night’s choices. 

A car takes them to a bar in Washington Heights, a local dive Ashton discovered a few years back. There’s a rainbow decal in the corner of the front window. It’s a small place with an old wooden dance floor, great music and good booze. It’s the kind of place only locals know about, free of prying eyes, fans and tourists. 

“Sick,” Calum says when the car drops them off. The bar is on a quiet, tree-lined street across from a small park, tucked between a pair of centuries-old brownstones. 

Ashton’s been here a handful of times, the first two with a friend of his who thought he was helping Ashton figure some things out for himself. 

Calum’s wearing black slacks with a slick stripe down the side and a red t-shirt that hugs his shoulders and chest. The pants pull across his ass and Ashton notices people looking as they enter. He doesn’t blame them. He gets a hot little thrill as eyes sweep over Calum, wanting what Ashton has. He rests a hand low on Calum’s back, steering him through the crowd, feeling both possessive and smug and a little like he’s getting away with something. 

The dance floor is a swell of bodies. They find a booth near the back with a view of the floor and the bar, a place tucked out of the way, made for people watching and seclusion. Ashton sheds his jacket and leans in to let Calum know he’s going to get them drinks. Calum looks up at him, already making himself comfortable in the booth, head back and eyes bright. He looks happy to be here. Ashton’s hand itches to reach out and push the sweep of hair off Calum’s forehead, touch his cheek, thumb his lower lip. 

He gets a beer for himself and a brightly colored cocktail, heavy on the vodka, for Calum. 

“Ash, this place is awesome,” Calum says when Ashton returns. He’s taking it all in, from the photos and memorabilia on the walls to the crowd of people dancing. 

Ashton could have taken Calum to some glittery see and be seen place in SoHo or the village. He’s glad they’re here. He’s relaxed here. 

Calum’s watching the dance floor with a hungry expression in his eyes, sipping from his glass and smiling to himself every once in a while like he has a secret. 

It’s too loud to talk much and Ashton is very happy to sit here and watch Calum. He’s got an angle in their corner booth where he can openly watch the light play across Calum’s face. 

Ashton isn’t drinking tonight, beyond his one beer, and he doesn’t make a habit of dancing sober. But Calum wants to dance and Ashton wants to give him any and everything he could ever wish for. He leans across the table and catches Calum’s attention with a hand on his, his fingers splayed over Calum’s, liking the way they look together. “Do you want to dance with me?” 

Calum’s grin softens his eyes, cheeks creasing, dawn breaking after the dark. It makes Ashton want to do anything to get Calum to keep looking at him like that. He gets so much pleasure from the way Calum looks at him, a fond softness in his eyes and a tilt of his mouth like Ashton amuses him. Ashton doesn’t remember when he started paying attention to the way Calum looks at him. 

He gets to his feet and leads Calum through a maze of tables, each of them full, to the edge of the dance floor where they’re immediately swallowed up by bodies. He turns and finds Calum thrust toward him as the crush closes in around them, forcing them close. 

In for a penny, Ashton tells himself and allows the wave of moving bodies to force him into Calum’s space. It’s easy to rest a hand on Calum’s hip and let the other settle on his arm, right beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt where his skin is warm. 

Calum’s eyes slip closed, a hint of a smile on his lips and when a guy bumps into Ashton from behind, knocking their hips together, he winds an arm around Ashton’s back. 

Calum can move, an unexpected fluidity in the way he dances that Ashton always tries to keep up with. He does okay for himself. He follows the sway of Calum’s hips, his mouth dry when Calum pushes a thigh between Ashton’s. They fit well together. 

One song slips seamlessly into two and then three and the crush of people becomes heavier, wilder, the floor shaking beneath them and the walls vibrating. Sweat drips down his back, his shirt clinging to him. He loves it here, the freedom of this place and being here with Calum. It makes him wish for something that used to feel out of reach. 

He doesn’t have alcohol swimming through his veins, telling him it doesn’t matter, that it’s okay if he leans in a little too close or lets his fingers linger a little longer on the bare skin of Calum’s hip. He does it anyway. He slips a hand beneath the damp cotton of Calum’s t-shirt, resting his palm right on the hot skin there, his fingertips digging to hold him close. He leans in and whispers in Calum’s ear, nothing that can be heard over the music but he feels the shiver run through Calum at the brush of Ashton’s lips on his skin. 

Ashton stays there with his face tucked in the warm slope of Calum’s throat and because this place makes him feel brave, he kisses him there at his pulse. 

There was a time when he and Calum would go out together, looking for a party or trouble, getting hammered and playing a reckless game of chicken with hands and lips until Ashton, always Ashton, laughed and darted out of reach. 

The sound Calum makes vibrates through him, a buzz underneath his skin and down his spine. Ashton wants to hear it. He wants to take Calum someplace private, somewhere he can lay Calum out and take his time. 

Ashton kisses him again at the hollow of his throat and right above the neck of his t-shirt, wanting to map a trail of kisses across his collarbone, suck at his tender skin until it’s red and bruised from his mouth. His fingers drift down to hover at the waist of Calum’s slacks, hesitating for a second and then slipping lower. 

Calum tilts his head, baring the arch of his throat to Ashton’s mouth, his arm tightening around Ashton’s waist. Calum has a mole to the right of his pulse. Ashton touches his lips to it, thinking about the other places on Cal’s body; the freckles on his shoulder blade, the scar on his left hip, the birthmark on his thigh, all of them marks and blemishes Ashton’s catalogued over the years of friendship when he was convincing himself it was completely normal to notice those things. 

When he lifts his head, the swell of bodies around him reminds him they’re not alone and this isn’t the place to make a move on his best friend. 

When the music transitions to something a little more uptempo, Ashton puts a little distance between them. He doesn’t go far and there isn’t much room on the dance floor but it’s enough that he can no longer feel Calum’s heartbeat or smell his cologne and deodorant. He keeps his hand on Calum’s hip, watches the light play across his face, the relaxed set of his shoulders and the smile that occasionally flits across his lips. It’s enough for now. 

 

* * *

 

Several hours later, after closing out the bar with three hundred of their closest friends, their car drops them back at their midtown hotel. In the elevator, Calum yawns and says, “sleep in my room?” 

Calum switched to water after a few drinks and they’re both mostly sober, exhaustion settling in, making them weary and heavy with fatigue. It’s been a long few months of promotion. They’ve played four acoustic shows in two days and Ashton can count on one hand the hours of sleep he’s had since they got back to New York. 

In the early days, they shared rooms and beds constantly, the four of them seeking each other out for comfort and some semblance of normalcy in a life that had suddenly turned chaotic. When they finally had some time to decide where to live when they weren’t on tour, it made sense for Ashton and Calum to get a place together. 

Buying houses was a decision he and Calum made mutually. That’s the way Ashton remembers it. One late night in the middle of a tour that seemed like it would never end, he and Calum decided together to stop sharing an apartment and buy places of their own. 

At the time, it had felt like the right thing to do. They were older. Ashton had just turned twenty-two. Los Angeles was where they wanted to put down roots and buying houses had made sense as the next logical step in their journey into adulthood. 

Ashton loves his house. He doesn’t regret the decision to move out on his own, or the money he spent to make it feel like a home. But when it’s three in the morning and his head won’t let him sleep, he misses the nights when Calum was right down the hall. The four of them are in good places these days and he’s proud that they seem to have beat the odds and come out the other side with their sanity in tact. But he’ll admit to himself that he likes knowing Calum still needs this occasionally. Still needs him.

Ashton says yes before he remembers that Calum’s room is a king, with one bed. The door shuts behind him and the enormous, freshly-made bed reminds him of the scared kid he used to be, ducking out of group cuddles and naps with Calum before he came to terms with wanting his best friend, years later. 

Ashton grew up surrounded by people who saw things in black and white, small-minded souls who got nervous if anyone tried to blur the lines. He’s not the same kid who left Sydney. He’s no longer afraid of what it means to want something different. Sharing a bed with Calum tonight feels like tempting fate. 

Calum grins at him then, a smile that takes over his face and reminds Ashton of the Maui sky at the end of an afternoon storm. 

He tosses his shirt at Ashton. “I can hear you thinking over there,” he teases. 

“I’m just wondering if you’re going to let me sleep on the right side,” he says, catching the shirt, warm from Calum’s skin and the humid night. It’s a lie, of course. He’s thinking about Calum’s big body against his, about kissing his open mouth, running his hands down his stomach, his hips. He’s thinking about all the times he freaked out about waking up hard against Calum, Calum’s ass against his hips and his cock poking out of the waist of his underwear. He’s thinking of how much things have changed over the years and how, in some ways, nothing’s changed at all. 

“That depends,” Calum says, voice muffled as he pulls on a fresh, threadbare t-shirt. His head pops out of the neck and he tugs the material down his torso. “Are you going to spoon with me?” 

Ashton wonders if Calum has any idea of what he looks like. Interviewers ask and Ashton tells them point blank that girls like Calum the most, for his easy smile and his big, broad body, for how gentle and kind he is with everyone. 

“If you shut up and get in bed, I’ll be the little spoon.” 

They brush their teeth side by side in the bathroom, jostling for space at the sink. They’ve done this countless times, in hotel rooms and their old apartment, since their first month as friends when they would spend the night in the granny flat at Michael’s place after practice. 

They have a handful of hours before they have to be up for the next round of performances and interviews. He’s so exhausted he could sleep for a week and still not feel rested. 

Ashton crawls beneath the cool sheets and despite the teasing, rolls to his side in case Calum feels like being the big spoon. 

Calum turns the last of the lights off and climbs into bed. He can feel Calum’s laughter as he settles in behind Ashton on his side, not tucked up against him the way Ashton had hoped but not the ocean of distance between them Ashton used to keep, like a physical space between himself and Calum could protect his heart. 

“Thanks for taking me out,” Calum says into the darkness. “That place was pretty sick.” The New York lights throw shadows around the room. Ashton misses home. If he were home, he wouldn’t be sharing a bed with Calum. Sometimes he wonders what the hell he was so afraid of, why he spent so much time letting fear keep him from having this.

Ashton hums. “I’m glad you had fun.” 

“I always have fun with you,” Calum says and Ashton can picture him grinning, the way the left corner of his mouth ticks up when he’s genuinely amused, the space between his brows furrowed. 

“It was a good date,” Calum mumbles. Ashton can feel him shift closer. After a beat of hesitation, Calum slips his arm loosely around Ashton’s waist

Ashton’s pulse is beating wildly. “The best,” he says quietly. 

 

* * * 

 

Ashton wakes after a few hours of sleep to dim, pre-dawn light. Beside him, the bed is empty. He can hear noises coming from the bathroom. 

He shared a bed with Calum for the first time six weeks after meeting and a month after being officially invited to join the band. They’ve been friends for the better part of a decade and Ashton still doesn’t know what it was that drew them to one another so quickly. 

Ashton would drive Calum home from practice on Friday nights and stay over for dinner and episodes of How I Met Your Mother or Friends, staying late enough that it made sense for him to just sleep at Calum’s. 

Calum was smaller than him back then. They’d sleep back to back in Calum’s bed and Ashton would wake up sometime before Calum and think about how nice it was that with Calum, he didn’t have to be anyone but himself. 

He’s drifting back to sleep, caught in that heavy space between between consciousness and dreams, when Calum climbs back into bed.

“Ash,” Calum says. He’s close enough Ashton can feel the warmth of Calum’s breath on his skin. He makes a low noise in response, letting out a startled huff when Calum pushes at his shoulder, rolling him to his back. 

“I was sleeping,” Ashton mumbles, opening his eyes to find Calum peering intently down at him. His weight is warm against Ashton, a comfort he wants to arch up into, wrap his arms around Calum’s broad back and pull him close. 

Calum slips a hand beneath his t-shirt, fingertips on his belly. He’s flushed from sleep, his face shadowed in the pale light. 

Ashton wonders if Calum can feel how hard his heart is pounding, must know the race of his pulse as he slides his palm up Ashton’s side, fingertips tracing a map of his skin to rest his palm flat on Ashton’s chest. 

Ashton isn’t sure what’s happening. This isn’t something they do with one another. It’s terrifying how much he likes it. 

“I forgot you snore.” Calum’s voice is hushed in the stillness of the early morning. He draws a shape over Ashton’s skin with the tip of a finger, idly touching him. It’s oddly tender, this quiet moment between them. 

Ashton hasn’t shared a bed with anyone in long enough, he’d almost forgotten too. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” Calum says on a hum. “I’m used to it.” 

Calum hesitates. Ashton hasn’t known Calum to be uncertain around him, ever. 

“What is it?” Ashton asks and in the next breath Calum’s lips are on his. Ashton goes still. His pulse pounds, roaring like a freight train reverberating through his head. Calum’s mouth brushes his once, twice, a third time before Ashton remembers to respond. He parts his lips and takes Calum’s sigh into his mouth, lifting his head off the pillow to give into the kiss. It’s a careful first kiss. There’s caution in it, the risk of taking seven years of friendship forward into something new and terrifying and thrilling. 

Ashton has never kissed someone he knows as well as he knows Calum. He’s never altered a friendship with a sweet, searching kiss. There’s something instinctive about kissing Calum he hadn’t anticipated, matching him breath for breath as the kiss evolves from tentative to exploratory. 

Ashton puts a hand on Calum’s shoulder to ease the kiss, not to stop but to give then a chance to catch their breath. 

Calum leans his forehead against Ashton’s. His eyes are closed still. His lashes are smudges against his cheeks, his mouth wet and freshly kissed, his hair disheveled from sleep. Ashton threads his fingers through the fringe sweeping across his forehead and pushes them aside as an excuse to touch him. 

Finally, Ashton says, “I thought that was supposed to be my move.” He’s spent the last several months thinking about a moment like this. 

Calum looks at him and smiles. “Oh? Was it?” He kisses Ashton’s parted lips. “Sorry.” He sounds breathless and not sorry at all. When he pulls back, his eyes are fond. He shrugs a shoulder. “You were taking too long.” 

Ashton feels the need to defend himself. “I was waiting for the right time!” he insists with a helpless laugh.

Calum looks skeptical. “And how long were you planning on waiting?”

The laugh dies in Ashton’s chest and he says, as honest as he’s ever been about anything, “as long as it took.” 

Calum huffs out a low, surprised sound and ducks back down, lips open against Ashton’s. “That’s really fucking romantic,” he breathes and swallows whatever Ashton might have said next. 

The whole thing is desperately romantic, Ashton thinks as he and Calum kiss. The room is quiet, muted morning light and the city coming awake, just beyond the windows, their own private space in a chaotic city of millions. 

Ashton tugs at Calum, maneuvering them both until they’re on their sides, legs tangled beneath the sheets. Calum’s hand slips beneath his t-shirt again, low at the small of his back, urging him close. 

Kissing Calum feels like a natural progression of a friendship that means more to Ashton than anything he’s ever held dear. He knows the way Calum smells, the scent of tea tree shampoo, the same deodorant he’s used for the time they’ve known each other, the cocoa butter lotion he uses. He knows Calum has beautifully soft skin save for the calluses on his fingertips and likes Tom’s toothpaste over anything else. 

Ashton didn’t know that Calum kisses like it’s something he wants to be good at. He doesn’t shove his tongue into Ashton’s mouth or kiss like he’s trying to devour him. He kisses with his lips parted, tasting the inside of Ashton’s mouth. He’s intuitive. Ashton’s breath catches when Calum licks at the lush, inside of his bottom lip, a spot that has always made Ashton see stars and Calum does it again, learning how to turn Ashton on, what he likes and what he fucking loves. 

Kissing Calum overwhelms Ashton. 

“I couldn’t wait,” Calum whispers when the kissing has tapered off, both of them on the verge of falling asleep. There are still a few hours of sleep to be had. Ashton wants to kiss Calum forever, but he also knows that sleep is a rare commodity these days and he should get it while he can. 

Ashton kisses the tip of Calum’s nose because he’s always loved Calum’s nose. “Good. I’m glad you didn’t,” he mumbles and falls asleep not long after.

 

* * * 

 

Their last night in New York falls in the middle of the week. They play a private show for several hundred fans at a venue in Tribeca, closing out their album-release promo and marking the beginning of some well-deserved time off.

Michael and Luke take off once the performance is over to catch late night flights home to Los Angeles. Ashton and Calum stick around for a little while to have a couple of drinks before heading back to the hotel. Neither of them have any interest in going out after this. 

Calum likes rum and coke on nights when he’s just trying to have a good time. He’ll take a shot if he’s celebrating, a mixed drink if he wants to get wasted and good wine if he’s had a shitty day. The bar serves the spiced rum Calum likes so Ashton gets them both rum and pineapple juice to celebrate the beginning of vacation. 

“Cheers,” Calum grins when Ashton sets his drink in front of him. He’s flushed from the heat of the small space, his hair a mess like he’s had his fingers in it and there’s sweat at the hollow of his throat. 

Ashton touches his glass to Calum’s and takes a sip just to have something to do that isn’t pushing his hand into Cal’s hair or leaning in to kiss the moles on his cheek. It’s just a couple dozen people from the record label but Ashton’s still conscious of all the phones that could catch a moment between them. 

They keep mostly to themselves, standing at a high top, making small talk. They leave for Miami in the morning, for five days in Turks and Caicos together. Ashton’s been looking forward to it since they made the plans on a frozen London afternoon in March, daydreaming about sunshine and sugary cocktails, hot sand beneath their feet and blue ocean as far as the horizon with nothing to do but drink and nap and be with each other. 

There’s a new level of anticipation now. They’ve spent the last three nights together, Ashton in Calum’s bed, making out until exhaustion takes over. He’s looking forward to five days to themselves, with no early morning wake up call looming and time to do anything they want. 

After an hour of making small talk with near strangers but keeping mostly to themselves, Calum leans in. “I’m ready to head back if you are.” His lips brush Ashton’s cheek, his breath warm on his skin. Ashton itches to touch him. 

He finishes his drink with a final swig, sets the empty on the table and says, “yeah, let’s do it.” 

Ashton watches the city from behind the tinted windows of their SUV. He’s seen a lot of the world. He’s walked through snowy Boston streets, ridden a bateau mouche down the Seine, seen the Grand Canyon from a helicopter. And for nearly every memory he has, Calum was right there with him. 

He remembers being nineteen, the two of them discovering Amsterdam together, wandering down cobblestone streets and along the Herengracht canal, detouring to the Van Gogh museum and past Anne Frank’s house before finding their way to the red light district to get into a little trouble. 

A mile from the hotel, he says to their driver, “hey man, can you let us off here?” 

He’s restless with sexual energy. There are nerves at the thought of going to bed with Calum for real, beyond making out until they fall asleep. It’s a delay of the inevitable but he latches onto it, hoping a little fresh air and a walk will settle him. 

Calum’s watching him with an adorably puzzled furrow between his brows and bemusement in his eyes. 

“Do you mind walking?” The problem with falling in love with your best friend is not having any secrets. Calum knows exactly what’s going on in his head right now. But he’s also willing to let Ashton get away with it. 

The Avenue of the Americas is a one way street going north. Their driver pulls to the right and lets them off at West 30th at the edge of Korea Town. 

It’s a balmy night, a nice reprieve from the repressive heat of the last few days. It’s just barely dark. The city is still alive with people, streets and sidewalks crowded, lights still on in many of the businesses they pass. 

In Los Angeles, after the start of the new year and before promotion kicked off, he and Calum went for a walk on a night similar to this one. They’d eaten dinner in at the Golden Dragon in Chinatown and weren’t quite ready to say goodnight. Ashton had talked Calum into walking with him to the Thien Hau Temple, down Yale street, aimlessly wandering through old neighborhoods until they’d found their way back to Ashton’s car. Ashton remembers it for how ordinary of an evening it was, completely un-spectacular until the moment Ashton came to the realization, quite suddenly, that he desperately wanted to kiss Calum right there on Broadway underneath the street lights. 

It was a lot like taking a fist to the solar plexus. Sometime between touring, living together and falling in and out of love with other people, his feelings for Calum had evolved into so much more than he knew how to handle. 

They end up on the corner of 40th and Sixth Avenue, Bryant Park still buzzing with activity despite it being nearly ten o’clock. There are stalls and food vendors still open. The air is full of the scents of the city, some of them unpleasant in the summer heat. They weave through the maze of benches and tourists, lights strung between the trees twinkling overhead. 

Ashton watches Calum. Luke has joked for years that he has no idea what goes on in Calum’s head. Ashton knows a fraction of it. From hysterically drunk conversations to quiet heart to hearts in the middle of the night, he knows a lot of what Calum keeps inside. Calum is the person he trusts with the darker, uglier parts of his real self. 

Calum lights a cigarette and Ashton recognizes the restlessness in it, a need to do something with his hands, fixate on something, rather than a desire to smoke. 

“Do you need that?” Ashton asks, leaning in and fitting his fingers around the shape of Calum’s wrist. He rubs his thumb along the vein there, the blue of it beneath the thin skin. It’s a struggle to keep from pressing his mouth there, or from reaching for the cigarette to stub it out and kiss Calum’s mouth. 

Calum flicks the ash from the tip and takes another drag. “No,” he says, exhaling a stream of smoke. “But I don’t think making out right now is a good idea.” His eyes drop to Ashton’s mouth, his gaze dark. Ashton sees his own desire and hunger reflected in Calum. 

“Come on,” Ashton says quietly, wishing he could give in and kiss Calum right there under the city lights, in a town of millions and not have it mean taking the biggest risk of their lives, their careers, their livelihoods. In a different lifetime, he’d hold Calum’s hand, fit their fingers and palms together and stroll up Sixth Avenue with nothing at stake. 

At the gazebo at the edge of the park, Ashton buys them ice cream cones and teases Calum about his choice of rainbow sprinkles. 

“Everything tastes better with sprinkles,” Calum insists with vanilla ice cream on his lips and his face flushed with pleasure. 

They take 42nd to Fifth Avenue, bumping hips and hands as they walk, wanting to be close anyway they can. 

At the hotel, Calum kisses him in the elevator with a hand on his chest, backing him up against the mirrored wall like he can’t help himself. His lips are cool, his tongue sweet when it slips inside the heat of Ashton’s mouth. Ashton kisses him back with the desperation he felt in the park, gripping Calum’s hips and opening himself up to Calum’s tongue, his teeth grazing Ashton’s bottom lip and making him arch up. 

It goes from finally to frantic quickly. Calum keeps him pinned with his hips and a hand flat on his chest, kissing Ashton’s open mouth, stroking the sensitive nape of Ashton’s neck with the tips of his fingertips like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Ashton. 

The doors open with a loud ding and they break apart, breathing hard and guilty at the risk they took. There’s no one on the other side though and Calum takes his hand, leading him off the elevator and down the hallway to his room. 

The door shuts loudly behind Ashton. They reach for each other, unable to keep from touching now that they’re allowed. 

Calum undresses Ashton as they kiss at the foot of the bed. His fingers are deft, slipping each button free and pushing his shirt off his shoulders to pool at the floor. Ashton gives Calum the lead, happy to follow as Calum kisses his way down Ashton’s chest, trailing his lips on a path between his nipples and down the fine line of hair beneath his belly button.

Ashton’s head is humming. The uncertainty in all of this is throwing him off. He knows what he likes. He enjoys sex and knows how to make himself feel good, how to please the women he’s been with. He doesn’t know how to please Calum, or how sex between them is going to work. 

Ashton tries to stop thinking so much. He urges Calum to his feet and kisses him, getting him out of his shirt so they can be done with the awkwardness of getting undressed. Calum has gotten bigger in the last year or so, putting in hours at the gym. He has new definition in his biceps and chest, broad shoulders and muscles in his stomach that Ashton wants trace with his mouth. 

“Fuck, Cal, you’re so sexy,” Ashton breathes, drinking Calum in from the muscles in his thighs to the cut of his hip bones. He’s seen Calum naked, even seen him hard thanks to a few drunken text messages meant for someone else, but this context is new. He’s overwhelmed by the sight of Calum, flushed from Ashton's kisses, standing naked with his cock hard and jutting out, curved and slender.

Ashton touches him. He wraps a hand around Calum’s cock and kisses his jaw, his cheek, the cupid’s bow of his mouth. 

The room is lit in muted light from the lamp by the bed, a soft glow that casts the room in shadows. Calum backs them up to the bed and the fall in together, graceless and clumsy against one another. 

Calum wraps his arms around Ashton’s shoulders and rolls them so he’s on his back beneath Ashton. He laughs as Ashton hisses, white-hot pleasure coursing through him as their cocks slide slickly together, trapped between them. 

“That’s good, right?” Calum says with a grin against Ashton’s mouth. It’s _so_ fucking good. 

“It’s good,” Ashton agrees, tracing the seam of Calum’s lips with his tongue, licking into his mouth. He rocks his hips down for the way pleasure curls through him, his balls drawing up tight. Calum’s clinging to him with one arm wrapped around his neck, his palm flat on Ashton’s ass urging him to move his hips faster, harder. 

Ashton’s brain hasn’t quite caught up with the rest of him. Beneath him, Calum is all soft skin and firm muscle, moving his hips instinctively, arching up against Ashton like even this isn’t close enough. It’s sexy and overwhelming and Ashton’s struggling to take it all in. 

They kiss until Ashton’s lost track of how long it’s been, until his lips feel swollen and they’ve started to sweat, bodies rubbing against one another, overheated despite the cool air coming from the overhead fan. 

“Hey,” Calum says quietly, bringing Ashton back in to focus. He cups Ashton’s face between his palms and eases off the kiss. 

Ashton’s startled by the switch in gears and stumbles over himself, trying to catch up. “What? Are you alright? Do you need to stop?” 

Calum smiles, thumbing the corner of Ashton’s mouth in a gesture that’s oddly sweet. “I’m fine,” he says with a helpless little laugh. “Just wanted to say I love you.” 

“Oh,” Ashton says, dumb with arousal and the frantic race of his pulse. He gives Calum a gentle, sweet kiss that quickly tumbles into messy and hungry. “I love you too,” Ashton breathes from one kiss into the next. They’ve said it countless times to one another over the years but it’s taken on new meaning. 

Calum fumbles in the drawer of the bedside table and presses a small bottle into Ashton’s palm. “You don’t have to,” he says, watching Ashton carefully. “I want it, if you do.” 

It’s a little black bottle of lube, the brand Ashton recognizes from when they lived together and Calum was careless about his things and the exhbitionst kink he hadn’t quite grown into. Ashton stares at it for a second, waiting for the fog to clear. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says hoarsely, kissing the dip beneath Calum’s mouth. “I want to.” The words get lost in the kiss, swallowed up in the little sounds Calum makes as Ashton slips a hand between them. He wraps his fingers around Calum’s cock, dripping pre-come and rigid against his belly. 

Ashton isn’t surprised by the ease with which things have shifted between them, slipping from friendship to this. What surprises him is how sexy kissing Calum is. He likes kissing a fair amount but kissing Calum overwhelms him. 

When Ashton might have kept right on kissing forever, Calum laughs against his lips and pushes at his shoulder. “You want to get on with it, or keep on kissing?” he teases, his nose nudging Ashton’s as he playfully kisses the corner of his mouth. 

“Yes,” Ashton says, tilting his chin for Calum’s lips.

He gets to his knees between Calum’s spread thighs, reluctant to put any amount of space between them. 

Ashton’s taking his lead from Calum, who says, “I like it on my front.” Whatever disappointment Ashton might have felt at not getting to see Calum’s face is obliterated when Calum rolls to his stomach, a pillow tucked beneath his hips, offering himself up to Ashton like it’s as easy as breathing. 

“Fuck, Cal,” Ashton breathes helplessly. Calum is stunning always but like this he’s breathtaking, every inch of beautifully golden skin on display for Ashton like a gift. Ashton touches him. He drags his palms from the meat of Calum’s calves, over the backs of his thighs to his ass, fitting his fingertips into the dimples at the base of his spine and tracing the moles that dot his back. He follows with his mouth, pressing kisses to the places he touches, the curve of his hip, the freckles below his shoulder blade, the vulnerable spot at the nape of his neck. 

Calum rests his cheek on the pillow, eyes closed and a helpless smile on his lips. The sounds he makes rumble up out of him like the purr of a classic engine, a throaty rumble that does as much to turn Ashton on as the sight of Calum laid out for him. 

Ashton gets the lube open. Nerves make him jittery and arousal is making him clumsy. He gets his fingers slick. This part is familiar. He’s done this once or twice with women he’s slept with. He understands the concept, gets that the mechanics are basically the same but the last thing he wants is to cause Calum pain. He gets Calum wet with lube, smearing it between his fingers before pushing the tip of one inside Calum’s tight, clenching heat. 

Ashton catalogues every slight hitch in Calum’s breathing, the restless shifting of his hips, wanting to get this right. Calum has a firm, muscular ass and he’s impossibly tight where Ashton works him open on one finger, fucking slowly into him and then withdrawing. Calum’s hips move when Ashton pulls out, canting backwards, chasing the pressure and fullness of a finger in him. 

“Jesus, Cal,” Ashton says, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. Calum is a big guy, broad and built from all the time and effort he puts in. Watching him submit so beautifully is breathtaking. 

Calum’s asshole is shockingly tight. Ashton keeps fucking him with one long finger, watching the way Calum’s hole stretches around him, the pink skin going pale as Ashton works him open bit by bit. Calum is hot from the inside out and the thought of getting his cock in there is dizzying. 

Calum rests his head on a folded arm, spreading his thighs a little to get Ashton deeper. “Fuck,” he sighs. He goes pliant beneath Ashton when he gets a second finger inside, boneless and laid out for him. 

Ashton fucks him carefully with two fingers, caught up in the grip of Calum’s ass and the visual of him on his stomach, ass elevated by the pillows beneath his hips, thighs spread. Ashton kisses the curve of one cheek, full and muscular, the flesh shifting and flexing as Calum starts to move a little, fucking himself on Ashton’s fingers. 

After a few breathless minutes, when Ashton’s ready to come all over himself at the vision Calum makes with two fingers stuffed inside him and hips humping into the bed, Calum goes still and mumbles with his face in the pillows, “I’m good, fuck. Ash, do it.” 

Ashton groans. He probably won’t make it at this point. He’ll consider it a success if he gets even the head of his cock inside Calum before he blows his load. 

“Now that’s sexy,” Ashton teases, playful to distract himself from how turned on he is. Calum hisses when Ashton withdraws his fingers, wiping them on the back of Calum’s thigh. 

“Sex isn’t always sexy,” Calum says primly, rolling abruptly to his back and climbing off the bed. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back a minute later with several condoms. 

Ashton laughs. “I’m touched, Cal, that you think that highly of my stamina,” he grins. “But that’s a little ambitious, don’t you think?” 

Calum tosses the condoms to the bed and straddles Ashton’s thighs. “We have six hours before we have to leave for our flight.” His grin softens as he leans in to kiss Ashton. It’s a sweet, searching kiss that makes Ashton’s heart race. They kiss for several long moments with Calum’s ass planted in Ashton’s lap, making out like teenagers who can’t help themselves. 

When it’s started to escalate with Calum rocking into Ashton, their cocks sliding slickly against one another, Calum pulls back with a shuddering breath. His eyes are heavy lidded, hungry and dark, his breathing shallow and his cheeks a ruddy pink. Ashton rubs his thumb over the swell of his cheekbone, his heart in his throat. 

“I’m going to come if you don’t hurry up and get in me,” Calum whispers against Ashton’s lips. 

Ashton pecks the corner of his mouth, his cupid’s bow, the trio of moles on his cheek. 

“Fuck, stop it,” Calum hisses on a laugh. He covers Ashton’s mouth with his palm, and because Ashton has never met a challenge he didn’t like, he drags his tongue over the flat of Calum’s hand, the slightly salty, warm flesh. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Calum says. He wipes his palm on Ashton’s cheek, which Ashton definitely deserves, and rolls effortlessly to his stomach, settling himself with pillows beneath his hips and his face hidden in the sheets. 

By the time Ashton’s managed to get the condom on and the slick head of his cock inside Calum’s impossibly tight heat, he’s so close to coming he’s tense and shaking with the effort not to. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Calum mumbles, his face mashed into the pillows. He’s holding himself still to adjust to the size and stretch of Ashton working him open on just the blunt head of his cock. Ashton isn’t particularly thick but his dick is on the long side. 

“Give me a second,” Calum says, his voice tight, body strained. Ashton’s grateful for something to focus on other than the ache in his balls and the terror that each breath Calum takes is going to send him over the edge. He kisses the mole between Calum’s shoulder blades, traces his tongue over the scar in the dip of his spine, counts the ridges of his vertebrae to distract himself from the gripping heat of Calum’s ass. 

After a few tense moments, Calum lets out a low sigh and shifts his hips, opening himself up. Ashton digs his teeth into his bottom lip and fucks into Calum as slowly as he can until his hips are pressed up against Calum’s ass, his dick deep in Calum.

“Oh fuck, sorry,” Ashton breathes into Calum’s hot, damp shoulder and comes hard. 

 

* * * 

 

“That could have gone better,” Ashton says a little while later when he’s caught his breath. 

The light has begun to shift from midnight to that fuzzy, pre-dawn light Ashton’s always associated with New York. 

Calum’s rolled them out of the wet spot where he came before Ashton could pull out. He’s draped himself and all of his hot, slick skin over Ashton. “I thought it was pretty fucking good,” Calum mumbles, his mouth on Ashton’s throat and one hand between them, working Ashton's cock. They’re both hard again. 

“We should try again.” Ashton kisses Calum’s temple where he’s damp with sweat. In a few hours they’ll be on a flight to Miami and then an island vacation they’ve spent the last few months looking forward to. 

Ashton pushes his fingers through Calum’s hair, kisses his open mouth and thinks, maybe he doesn’t mind New York.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm on [Tumblr](https://elliebirdthings.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to say hello.


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